


Back to you

by Rothelena



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:06:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothelena/pseuds/Rothelena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red John is dead- Jane comes undone in the aftermath. But things are about to get a lot more complicated...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to you

He is dead.  
Blood oozes from the wound, black and burnt in the middle of his forehead. The blood looks redder than anything she’s ever seen before. Her gun is still smoking, and she can hardly take a breath.  
Elation. Disbelief. The painful dizziness that comes with killing.  
Red John is dead.  
Her gaze wanders, meets his. Patrick Jane, who’s been prepared to die. Who’s made his peace with the universe. But he’s alive.  
Lisbon delivered a clean shot.  
And Patrick Jane is still alive.  
She sees the emotions swirling on his face, every single one of them. How he realizes what just happened. How he tries to feel relief. Contentment. Something good, please. Anything good.  
But there is only blackness, emptiness, and she sees it seeping into his consciousness. She feels the hollow sensations as if they were her own.  
Fear grips her heart. And suddenly, she understands that she’s not surprised. She has always known that killing the monster couldn’t save Jane.  
Looking at him now, she understands that it might just have condemned him forever.

Xxxxxxxxxx

It’s been several days, and he is not here.  
She can’t eat, because everything tastes like cardboard. Her head hurts. Permanently.  
Wintry darkness rages in front of the huge window in the bull pen. She sits on Grace’s chair late at night and looks into the enticing blackness. Beckoning it to swallow her.  
Where are you? Will you be back?  
Jane shows up next day, after lunch break. He looks dirty, disheveled. He’s drunk, and what he says isn’t nice.  
She urges him to take a shower, dress properly, become himself again.  
But he just laughs at her. Saint Teresa. Petty bourgeois.  
It hurts that he doesn’t say anything gentle. Anything that shows her what they built has still meaning.  
It hasn’t.  
His friendliness is gone. He takes a swig from a small bottle, the amber liquid catching some rays of artificial light, transforming it into a magical elixir.  
She wants to slap the bottle out of his hands. Wants to get her old Patrick Jane back, the one who hugged her when he felt sad.  
This is a stranger.  
“What do you want me to do?” he asks. “I outlived my purpose. And I’m too weak to kill myself. I’m a walking relic, Lisbon. I’m done. With everything.”  
Her tears taste like bile, but she swallows them bravely.  
Where he just stood, only emptiness remains.  
He’s gone to meet a slow death. And suddenly, she wants to die, too.

Xxxxxxxxxx

She hasn’t seen him in two weeks, and she can’t stand it any longer.  
“What are you going to do, boss?” Cho asks.  
She slides her arms into the silky sleeves of her jacket.  
“I’ll go and look for him.” She says. Her voice is firm and strong. She’s the team-leader.  
Cho gets up.  
“Don’t, boss.” He says. “You can’t save him. You can only destroy yourself.”  
“I know.” She says and walks away, the floor solid and concrete beneath her feet, and already every single step hurts, making it so, so hard to go on.  
But the choice has never been hers. It hasn’t been his either.  
She looks everywhere, talks to so many people her tongue feels like cotton at the end of the day.  
But she can’t find him. He stays gone.  
His absence is like a throbbing wound, and she feels like tearing his couch apart in the silly hope to find him, reach him, see him again.  
Every free minute she spends looking for him. Time runs through her fingers. She can’t stop.  
Hunger fades. Thirst is a nuisance. She can’t stop.  
“He is blond!” She grits out “And beautiful.”  
The last is an afterthought, her voice pained and small. The team-leader is gone, when it can’t go right now. She needs to be strong for this.  
Suddenly the homeless black man in front of her frowns at her, thoughtful.  
“Pretty boy?” He says. “middle-aged, lots of laugh lines all over his face? I’ve seen him. He’s at Union.”  
He turns and walks away, and Teresa blinks, tries to concentrate. Which city is she in? Los Angeles. Los Angeles Union Station.  
Her feet won’t carry her fast enough, but she can’t take a cab. She’s too nervous, can’t sit still. She’s exhausted when the building appears in front of her, as if it has been created by her wish alone.  
Los Angeles Union Station. She has to stop for a moment, close her eyes, fight the urge to empty her already empty stomach.  
He has to be here. I can’t go on. But she knows that she can go on, will go on infinitely, until she finds him, no matter where he is, and be it at the end of the world. Nothing she won’t do, nothing.  
She runs through the crowded hallways, searching and hoping, knowing her eyes are that of a madwoman.  
She finds him in the main hall, studying a timetable. Probably he’s just working with his memory palace, because he clearly isn’t going anywhere.  
His clothes are torn in places, dirty and in disarray, but they are still his clothes. He hasn’t combed his curly hair in a while. His face is tired, his eyes even more so. She can see that from several feet away.  
She walks up to him, the moment strange and unreal, hope squeezing at her heart although she already tastes the foul stench of rejection on her tongue.  
He turns fast, somehow detecting her presence. His gaze is calm, resolved. He’s been expecting her to find him eventually. No smile. She pines for his smile. Has dreamed about it every night since he’s been gone.  
“Come with me.” She says.  
“No, Teresa. Not this time.”  
“Come with me or I’ll arrest you.”  
Her voice sounds unconvincing even to her own ears.  
He moves slowly, curiosity in his utterly exhausted eyes. She turns and leads the way, knowing he will follow.

Xxxxxxxxxx

The hotel room is small and gloomy, she can’t bring herself to turn on more lights. She hears the sound of the shower, the soft noise covering her like a blanket. She’s so tired. Her skin burns.  
She can’t save him, Cho has said. Just destroy herself. He’s right.  
But she can’t stop.  
She bets he just stands under that shower, motionless. She walks over to the bathroom door, opening it without hesitation. Nothing matters any longer, decent behavior, shame- another life, another century.  
He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at her. The water streams over his naked body. He’s lean, almost thin. His pale skin is slightly bruised here and there. She’s not surprised. Patrick Jane does get into fights easily.  
She comes closer, no time to shed her clothes. She only stops when she’s directly in front of him. His eyes meet hers, his gaze is so calm, as if nothing bothers him any longer. The smell of alcohol on his breath is faint, it’s been a while since he drank something.  
She grabs a bottle of soap, wetness soaking into her clothes. She can feel liquid mist gathering on her lashes. She concentrates on squirting the clear gel on her fingers, the texture smooth and cool, quickly dissolving into a solid lather when she rubs her hands together.  
She slides her soapy fingers over the ridges of his belly, following the thin line of water-darkened hair, slowly brushing over his cock. It swells beneath her touch, fast, taut satin over relentless steel.  
His lips part, his breathing slightly faster now. His gaze unsettling, unwavering.  
She doesn’t care.  
Her hands slide between his legs, pressing down on his perineum, and his whole body starts to twitch.  
He starts to open the buttons of her blouse, dripping wet now, resisting, he gets impatient, rips the fabric apart in his hands. It takes forever to get rid of her jeans, and she feels feverish with want, so much longing she screams the moment his lips meet hers, dry, warm, his tongue sneaking into her mouth, spreading his sinfully sweet taste everywhere.  
Her body is wet and naked, excitement makes her shiver against him, her fingers still caressing his erection, hard and unrelenting now.  
He grabs her, lifts her into his arms, bruising his shins while he’s walking because he’s still kissing her, as if he’s just as unable to stop as she is. She feels the urgency in his wildly pulsating lips, mimicking her own heartbeat. She feels dizzy, but it’s a good dizziness this time.  
She lands on the mattress, her body dampening the sheets. He spreads her legs , pushing his hips between them, absently testing for her wetness with his fingers. She is drenched in arousal, she can feel it herself.  
He groans into her mouth and she swallows the sound, every sign of his arousal. He still wants her. His body can’t lie.  
His cock against her flesh is like a constant itch she can’t scratch, she moans and whimpers now, her body crying out for fulfillment, completion.  
His glans spreads her folds, and for a moment everything stands still, the sensations become unbearable. She can’t scream, something is blocking her throat.  
He pushes deeper, entering her with several hard, short thrusts, opening her until he’s inside her to the hilt. She’s tight, she knows, he arches in her embrace, pleasure so evident on his beautiful face she can’t look away.  
He kisses her more, lips so sweet she wants to devour them, his hips start to pump, sending his hardness over tissue so aroused it feels as if she’ll be passing out any minute. He thrusts harder, deeper, all thoughts vanishing from his eyes. She sees his pupil dilate even further before her own world dissolves into a myriad of sparks, liquid fire running through her veins while her sleek muscles are clenching around his length.  
He takes her so hard that she almost can’t take it, he’s frantic, demanding, and she craves more, meeting him thrust for thrust, their wet flesh slapping against each other until she crashes over the edge, a mad tumble of feelings and sensations, her throat dry when she screams. Stars are dancing in front of her eyes, her muscles are contracting so hard it almost hurts.  
He follows her immediately, her powerful release triggering his own, it feels good, so good, the strong spurts of warm liquid inside her, entering her deep. His essence, so much warmth, his agonized cries wild and hot.  
She shivers.  
She almost gasps when he pulls out of her and is gone, his pleasant weight lifted from her body.  
He doesn’t talk to her, doesn’t even look at her. As if she’s nothing but a piece of furniture.  
He dresses with precise, mechanical movements.  
She wants to say something, but the shock still numbs her senses.  
When he goes without a single word, not even giving her another glance, he leaves only darkness.  
She is too scared to cry.  
She can’t lose him again.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Her hand doesn’t tremble when she tightens the Velcro of her Kevlar-vest. Movements done a million times, a blue print she can’t get rid of.  
But she knows her constantly thinking about him could get her killed. Easily.  
“You okay, boss?” Cho asks.  
“Sure.” She answers, her voice high-pitched and distant, and her own eyes suddenly feel like bottomless lakes, pouring her soul into her churning guts.

Xxxxxxxxxx

His skin is so warm, she is doomed to stay icy cold as soon as he’ll be gone again.  
She plays with the tiny hairs on his chest, light and blond, shimmering in the sparse light that illuminates the hotel room.  
“We have to stop doing this, Teresa.” He says.  
Why?  
He looks at her, silent.  
Why?

Xxxxxxxxxx

Whenever she starts touching him in earnest, a dam breaks inside him. His thrusts are hard, so hard she can feel him bruising her pubic bone.  
She wants more, more pain, more sensation, and he delivers, giving the utmost of himself, his body strong and hard and vibrating with heat and energy.  
Her release is so strong it really feels like dying- as if she leaves every burden in this world, to wander into the next dressed in sheer light.  
She wraps her legs around him, his cock swelling inside her. The burst of his seed comes like a wonderful surprise every time, his warmth bathing her in bliss and longing, until he pulls out and turns away, gets clothed without talking to her.  
When the door slams shut, the tears will come, and there will be so many that she’s always a little bit stunned by their amount.  
She gets smaller every time.  
But she can’t stop.

Xxxxxxxxxx

“You okay, boss?” Cho’s face is so serious. Does he ever smile.  
She can’t answer him. She just nods, searching for a smile that won’t come. It has left her.  
Everybody does.

Xxxxxxxxxx

He tries to be cold and aloof.  
Doesn’t look at her when she searches him out. Speaks to her harshly, sometimes demeaning. She doesn’t care, she can’t stop.  
They fight, and it feels good to get angry. But after an endless stream of curses and insults, he follows her, only to flow into her embrace in another hotel bed, melting his body to hers.  
He’s hard as soon as she touches him. She wants endless foreplay to make sure he can’t leave her again, not so soon, not before she’s prepared, but he just grabs her hands and pushes inside her, his lips soothing her screaming mind with gentle kisses.  
Rough sex, until they’re both panting, every time. She wants to stop her own climax, wants to make time stand still for them, but the warm flood erupts inside her, and before she can collect some strength to fight the pain he’s gone.  
His presence is a faint memory all of a sudden, and she frantically searches the sheets for a smell, a hair, a trace of warmth.  
Gone.

Xxxxxxxxxx

“Keep the hands where I can see them!”  
Her voice is as dry as her throat. The Kevlar so heavy today she can barely stand.  
Tired, so tired. She knows she must look like something the cat dragged in.  
The handcuffs are clicking, the sound loud in her own personal hell.  
Grace has noticed that something is off. Lisbon tries not to look at her. She can’t bear to be mothered now, please.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Less sleep, less food.  
How can she eat when she tastes bile all the time? When the nausea makes it hard for her to leave her bed in the morning?  
She wants to curl into a ball and die.  
No sleep when her thoughts are full of him.  
So long since she’s seen him. Maybe a simple case of withdrawal.  
She smiles at the DA. It’s back, her smile, a method of disguise, like a mask she wears to simulate bravery.  
She has closed another case, all on her own. Takes longer, but she doesn’t need him. Her soul burns a hole into a smile.  
She gets smaller and smaller. Every day he is not with her.

Xxxxxxxxxx

He is so warm and solid, but she can hardly move.  
She just wants to lie here on his chest and pretend that she means something to him, that everything is back to normal.  
She’s so tired, sleepy, his heart beats beneath her ear.  
His skin feels so good, the blond hairs tickling her fingertips. But she can’t move.  
“You have to see a doctor, Lisbon.” He says.  
It’s the nicest thing he has said to her since Red John’s death.

Xxxxxxxxxx

“You have to see a doctor, boss.” Cho says. “Or I’ll suggest to Hightower that you get suspended immediately.”  
She is angry at him, but she can’t lie.  
So she makes an appointment and actually keeps it, feeling strange and out of place in the clean, shiny waiting room. It’s been forever since she’s seen a doctor.  
It’s black and white, indecipherable- the picture that destroys her whole world.  
“Congratulations, agent Lisbon. You are pregnant.”  
She doesn’t even try to smile. Her throat is so dry she couldn’t even croak her own name.

Xxxxxxxxxx

She spends a whole day in the church, until her backside hurts from the hard wooden bench.  
She can’t have the baby. It hurts so much, but she can’t have it.  
He wouldn’t survive it. She knows he can’t be a father again, not like this, not so dangerously close to losing his mind forever.  
She can’t have the baby. Her baby. And his.  
Her hand touches her flat belly.  
His baby. She can’t get rid of it. Can’t destroy another life.  
She closes her eyes and swallows the vitamin pill the doctor has given her.

Xxxxxxxxxx

She avoids him until the longing becomes too strong to bear.  
He sits on his favorite bench, a new bruise blooming on his cheek. Like an ugly, bluish-yellow flower. He smiles at her, for the first time in what feels like ages.  
She doesn’t know how to say it.  
“I’m pregnant, Jane.”  
He seems dumbfounded for a moment.  
“No.” He chuckles, but his eyes are dark with denial.  
Any hint of smile dies a sad death on his face in seconds.  
“No.” He says slowly. “No, Lisbon. No way. I can’t be a father again. I can’t.”  
“He’s dead, Jane.” She whispers.  
Hoping against reason that this is what he fears, that he simply wants to protect them, her and the baby.  
“So are they.” He squashes her hope with his thundering voice, putting his family on a pedestal she can’t reach, her and her unwelcome offspring. She feels cold and teary, and hates herself for her weakness. She can understand him. She shatters the frail equilibrium of his existence here.  
“It hasn’t changed anything, Lisbon.” He breathes. ”Not a thing. I can never be a father again, Lisbon, I‘m just waiting for my death. You have to get an…”  
He pauses for a moment, and just for this moment, she can hate him. Hate him in this tiny blink of an eye where he is about to destroy anything that could have been between them. Anything she has hoped for, dreamed of.  
“You have to let the doctor interrupt your pregnancy. I’m sorry.”  
He’s sorry. She sees the pain in his face, so strong his skin takes on a greenish hue. He’s disgusted at himself. His lips pressed into a thin line. He’s sorry.  
“Forget it, you bastard.” She hisses and turns, her legs shaking so much she almost can’t walk.  
She desperately tries to find the hate, it has given her comfort, where is it now?  
Instead, her love for him becomes so strong she knows she wouldn’t be able to talk around the lump it’s forming in her throat.

Xxxxxxxxxx

She pulls the Velcro strips as tight as they will go.  
“You should be on desk duty, boss.” Cho says. “You can’t walk into that house, dammit.”  
“As long as I can close this vest,” she answers calmly, “I will wear it.”  
The silence feels soothing and free, is her friend.  
“When will you tell Hightower?”  
Lisbon looks at Cho, sees the earnest, warm worry in his eyes. It feels so good to know that he cares for her. No…them.  
“I won’t.” She states. “Not until she can’t overlook it any longer.”  
She pulls her Glock, the heavy, cool metal a welcome reminder of who she is.

Xxxxxxxxxx

It’s dark, and the streetlight in front of her apartment has been broken for quite some time.  
She pulls her gun when she detects the dark shape that hides in the dense shadows.  
“It’s been a while since you visited me.” He says, and she wishes so much his voice wouldn’t make her heart sing like this.  
But it does. It drowns everything else, sounds, feelings. Makes her soar.  
She doesn’t know what to say.  
“Do you want to come in?” she whispers eventually.  
“No. I don’t go into your apartment. Let’s find a hotel instead.”  
He holds his hand out for her, and she takes it, her tears flowing freely in the cool night air.  
Sentimental Teresa Lisbon, what’s the matter with you? Hormones, probably.  
She’s so happy when she sinks down on the mattress, her body screaming for him, and when he shoves his hard cock into her, it feels like coming home. Like cleansing and salvation.  
His kiss is lustful and urgent, his tongue hot and hungry.  
She longs for sweetness, tenderness, but he doesn’t grant her that tonight, and his abandon sweeps her away, she forgets everything except him, his strong body between her legs.  
His hard, fast thrusts make the bed bang against the wall.  
The sound becomes its own amplifier, getting louder and louder in her head until the rhythm fills her whole body, every stroke of his length deep inside her adding sensation until she can hardly breathe. She comes in a blinding explosion, feels her sharply contracting walls milking him, his seed gushing into her in a hot flood.  
The pleasure is paralyzing for a moment, how is she supposed to survive it.  
How?  
The warmth leaves her so fast she gasps, his body gone. Nothing can prepare her for this, ever. The loneliness hits as hard as it always does, her hands twitch, wanting to reach out for him. She stops herself. It would look pathetic.  
But this time, when he reaches the door, he turns and looks at her.  
It’s just a second, just a glimpse.  
But it freezes time for a moment, and that just has to be enough.

Xxxxxxxxxx

It gets dark so fast when it’s winter in Sacramento.  
She sits at her desk and wonders about the cold. It’s freezing.  
She’s tired and worn, but she stubbornly pushes through the paper work. She won’t allow herself a shred of weakness over this.  
Grace enters her office. Her face is so cheerful, when Lisbon can’t feel any joy at all, not now. She is terribly empty. Feeling bloody and torn inside.  
“I made you a cup of tea, boss.” Grace says, placing the cup on her cluttered desk. “It’s herbal- no caffeine.”  
Lisbon stares at the cup.  
“Since he’s not here to make you one.” Grace says with a gentle shrug, her smile so genuine.  
It’s the first time that someone as much as mentions him in front of her, and she is suddenly grateful.  
Tears burn in her eyes, she blinks to rob them of their power.  
“Thank you, Grace.” She says.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Her belly is already rounded, the Kevlar hardly fits any more. She pulls the Velcro tight. It has to be enough.  
“It’s not closing properly, boss.” Cho says.  
“It is.” She replies. Making her eyes hard to stop any further debate.  
Cho’s eyes are urgent and intent.  
“Don’t do this, boss. You’re in command, but please- let us do the dirty work.”  
“I do my own dirty work.” She’s stubborn and childish. Can’t be helped now.  
The house is dark, and she can feel that the vest has too much leeway. Her Glock feels rough and heavy in her hands, comforting as always.  
A door crashes open, she’s not fast enough. A deafening explosion, white-hot pain spreads all over her ribcage.  
Grace screams in the distance.  
My baby, Lisbon thinks. Jane’s baby.  
Then the world blurs at the edges, and everything goes black.

Xxxxxxxxxx

The doctor looks angry. Her ribs hurt like hell. She feels like a misbehaving pupil in front of the principal. She has deserved it- she has behaved like a child.  
“You’ve been damn lucky, agent Lisbon,” the doctor hisses, “the pregnancy is still intact, the ribs are only bruised, not fractured. What were you doing there, for god’s sake? With a pregnancy that far advanced, you should be on desk duty, dammit!”  
She knows. She’s twenty weeks along.  
She dreads desk duty and suddenly hates her whole life, fate laughing at her, pregnant and alone, her life destroyed in a moment of careless pleasure. No, she is being unfair- her life has been destroyed long ago. When she fell in love with a broken man and realized that she would most likely not be able to save him.  
The doctor leaves her alone, and she carefully touches her belly, round and firm. Like a contaminant.  
The tears burn her skin. She hides her bump under the blanket, doesn’t want to see it.  
She buries her face in her hands, tears falling freely now, she feels her nose starting to run. She sobs even more, embarrassed and disgusted at herself.  
When she looks up, he stands in the doorway.  
He looks bad. His blond curls are wild and unruly, his clothes stained and worn. His lip is split, although there’s no swelling. He has bled onto his shirt.  
He sits down on the chair next to her bed and places his head in her lap. She gently strokes his hair, warmth coursing through her until she glows from inside. She can’t say if he’s crying, but he doesn’t look up, burying his face in the folds of her blanket. His hair is so soft, and she feels like smiling for the first time in weeks.  
Eventually, he lifts his head and sits back in his chair, pulling a deck of cards from his vest pocket.  
“Let me show you some new tricks, huh?” He says softly.  
His fingers are long and graceful, she stares at them in fascination. He’s so fast, half the movements she doesn’t even get. He tricks her every time. She laughs.  
She’s tired, so tired, sleep claims her slowly, no, she can’t fall asleep, he will go… but the room is warm and comfortable now, and in the alluring safety of her drowsiness he takes her hand, his thumb gently stroking her clammy skin.  
Her eyelids are drooping, and in the second before she succumbs to sleep she hears his voice.  
“I’m sorry, Teresa.”  
When she wakes up, he is gone.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Madeleine Hightower’s gaze is full of concern, but damn, Lisbon hates this. Her ribs are still hurting, she hasn’t eaten in a while.  
“You’re still team leader, agent Lisbon.” Hightower says gently. “You’re in command here. But I can’t let you go on field missions any longer. I partly blame myself for what happened- I should have seen it, I’m a mother myself.”  
“I tried to hide it.” Lisbon says.  
Madeleine’s eyes stay warm and soft.  
“It’s a good thing, Teresa. It’s something wonderful and unique. What about the father?”  
Lisbon stays silent, just staring at her superior. Madeleine lowers her head.  
“I’m sorry.” She says. “But I’m sure you’ll manage. A child mobilizes powers you didn’t know you had. Have some faith, Agent Lisbon. You’re on desk duty until after your baby is born. I trust you to do your job to your full capacity.”  
She cries when she steps outside this evening. Cries all the way home.  
Sits on her bed the whole evening, crying. She doesn’t want a baby. She doesn’t want to lose the only thing that’s left of her old life- her Glock. Instead, she has a baby whose father isn’t here.  
Her shirt is wet from her own tears, and still they keep dripping, saturating the fabric until it’s sticking to her skin.  
Suddenly, there is something strange. It feels as if someone is blowing bubbles in her belly and makes them burst one by one. It’s a tiny, soft stirring, and at first she thinks she’s wrong. But when it happens again, she knows she’s not.  
It’s the baby.  
Shock stops the tears.  
The baby does it again, stronger this time, and suddenly she is awash with shame.  
It still wants to talk to her, despite everything she’s done.

Xxxxxxxxxx

It’s dark outside, and agent Lisbon is watching her baby on a tiny black and white screen. She has worked the whole day and is terribly tired. Another case closed. Cho has done the arrest.  
She’s had some tea for lunch with Grace, who’s tried her best to make her smile. Tough job these days.  
The baby is moving, she sees it on the screen and feels it inside her. It’s kicking against the ultrasound apparatus the doctor is pressing against her belly. She can’t contain her grin.  
“The baby is fine,” the doctor says, “a little small, but fine. You’re 28 weeks along now, if something happened now, the baby could already survive outside your body. Do you want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?”  
“No!” she says instinctively.  
What if it’s a daughter? That would be even worse. What if she resembles Charlotte in any way?  
It would be the final straw. She would lose him forever.  
“No,” she says, her voice softer now. “I don’t want to know.”  
It has to be a son. Fate can’t be that cruel.  
The baby inside her kicks again. It’s so much stronger now.

Xxxxxxxxxx

When she leaves the doctor’s office, he’s waiting for her. His split lip has healed, but she sees the faint outline of a black eye.  
Her heart aches for him, it hurts so much. Why won’t he let her help him?  
She’s so alone all the time. So alone that she tries to leave the office as seldom as possible.  
“Let’s go to a hotel.” He says, already taking her hand.  
Later in their room, he undresses her slowly.  
He ignores her rounded belly, doesn’t touch it once. She doesn’t say anything.  
He carefully touches her ribs, his fingers sliding over the sharply protruding ridges.  
“You are too thin,” he says gently, “you have to eat more, Lisbon.”  
She closes her eyes. It feels as if she can’t eat anything at all these days, her soul chafed and burnt with fear and worry for him.  
She drives her hands into his hair and pulls him closer. He smells clean and fresh, his skin still slightly damp from the shower. Her belly presses against his. The baby keeps absolutely still tonight.  
He pushes her down onto the mattress. His lips are so warm, pouring life’s forgotten sweetness into her, she gropes for him, her hands kneading his back, his shoulders.  
He’s careful not to put his weight on her bump, twisting his body sideways.  
When he pushes into her in a single hard thrust, he supports his frame on his arms to spare her the strain. Her belly is rather small for her week, she can still take him easily.  
He takes her hard, urgently, they meet rarely enough to stoke the hunger into something dangerous every time. His groans are loud and desperate, his hips undulating against hers, seeking the closest contact possible. Soon he’s pounding into her, gritting his teeth against the inhuman pleasure.  
Her orgasm feels so good she’s shaking all over, the force of her release making her body soar, her mind dissolve into glittering sparks.  
He roars with the power of his climax, red-hot jets of seed spurting into her. He thrusts until the last drop of liquid has been spent, giving her one delicious aftershock after the other every time he drives into her to the hilt.  
She knows he will go now, braces herself against the feeling.  
He’ll be back, eventually. But it hurts so much.  
His warmth leaves her, making the cold feel paralyzing all around her. She keeps her eyes firmly closed.  
Hears the sounds he makes in the room, dressing, preparing to leave. The baby starts kicking again.  
She puts her hand against the spot, feels the flutter of the tiny feet. He could feel it, too. But he doesn’t want to.  
She waits for the clicking sound of the door closing behind him.  
But instead, she feels his lips on hers all of a sudden. His kiss is sweet and gentle, just a touch of probing before he pulls away.  
When she opens her eyes, he’s gone.

Xxxxxxxxxx

When she turns around the corner after lunch break, she finds him sitting on his couch.  
Her heart almost stops.  
He looks sad, lost, but he musters his smile until it manages to lighten the whole room.  
“What do you have there?” He asks, and she hands him the file she was carrying.  
He studies it for a moment, while she studies him.  
He has dark rings beneath his eyes. His lips look dry, his stubble is fairly long. He doesn’t wear his jacket, just pants and vest over his shirt. He looks utterly, deeply exhausted.  
“The husband,” he says, handing back the file, “how boring.”  
She nods. She has interviewed the husband this morning and had her suspicions. It feels good to hear him support her theory.  
All she wants is to take him home, care for him, keep him clean and fed and warm.  
But she has the baby to care for and he doesn’t want the baby.  
He gets up slowly.  
“Will you stay?” she asks hopefully. Against her better knowledge.  
“No.” he answers. “I have to go back.”  
Back to what?  
She doesn’t dare to ask, always afraid she could make it worse. As if that was even possible.  
Her breath catches in her throat when he lifts his hand and gently touches her face.  
He kisses her cheek, his parched lips hot on her skin.  
Without a word, he turns and walks away.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Grace starts buying all kinds of baby stuff and deposits it in her office.  
Lisbon is glad. She hates shopping, and choosing baby things depresses her thoroughly. All the beaming people in those shops, everyone overflowing with happiness when she doesn’t feel happy at all.  
But it has to be done, dammit. Her baby can’t go naked after all.  
She tentatively approaches one of Grace’s boxes and pulls out a piece of garment. It’s a tiny grey vest, and Lisbon can’t help it: she laughs for the first time in what feels like ages, the sound alien and strange to her ears.  
She careful touches the silky grey fabric. She has no idea if Grace guesses that Jane might be the father, or if this is just an innocent joke. Maybe she should talk to her about it. But she can’t bring herself to reveal Jane right now. He doesn’t want to be a father after all.  
She looks at the little vest again, a sad smile grazing her lips. It’s cute.  
But it’s also tiny. Are babies really that small, dammit?  
Fear pierces her heart.  
She’s not ready for it. And she’s afraid she’ll never be.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Thirty-two weeks along now, and the longing is slowly killing her.  
In the evening she drives to Los Angeles, walking to Union Station from a public parking lot at the beach. Everybody seems to be staring at her belly, although it’s not that big. But everybody knows what it is, and she’s wearing a tank top.  
The baby is kicking like mad.  
Almost two hours later, she feels dizzy and exhausted, close to collapsing. She has looked everywhere. But he’s not here.  
She can’t believe it. Maybe he just left for some kind of business? God, maybe he got beat up again?  
But he’d been always here in the evening. Always.  
Despair grips her heart like an ugly trap. Her only connection to him, gone.  
She pulls out her cell phone, calls him. Again. He doesn’t answer. He never does.  
Her insides go cold, she can hardly move. Where is he? He could die, on a god-forsaken street out there, all alone, stabbed by the vicious knife of some worthless thug he’d offended. Jane.  
She looks for him in the streets, knowing that it’s crazy, that she will never find him.  
The police ignores her.  
“You know how it is, agent,” Officer Bergman says, staring at her badge, then her belly. Not bothering to take off his glasses. “Hobos vanish all the time. We can’t keep track of all of them, and I’ve certainly never seen your specimen here.”  
He looks at the photo again.  
“A shame, huh?” He says. ”But you just can save ‘em all, agent.”  
She wants to hit him until she hears bones breaking, but the baby kicks her hard, and she has to go to the toilet. Urgently.  
“Can I use your restroom, please?” Her voice is stony. Empty.  
Bergman’s eyes wander back to her bump.  
“Sure.” He says.  
The whole restroom smells of ripe lemons which helps with her budding nausea. She inhales gratefully.  
But the dizziness returns, swallowing her mind into complete blackness when she suddenly sees a small blotch of blood on the paper.  
She walks out slowly.  
Bergman gets up and takes off his glasses.  
“I have to go to the hospital.” She says, her voice eerily calm. ”Please call an ambulance.”

Xxxxxxxxxx

“It’s nothing, really.” The young doctor says, his eyes full of compassion and warmth. Even a stranger’s comfort makes her cry these days, and she hates crying. Is thoroughly fed up with tears and sobs and all the pathetic crap she’s pulling lately.  
“It’s just an ectopy,” the doctor continues,” a sensitive area at the cervix that bleeds easily. It’s not dangerous, and it has nothing to do with the baby. You don’t have to take any precautions. The bleeding has probably been stress-induced, and we’ll keep you here over night. It’s already late, you can’t drive the seven hours to Sacramento like this. You’ll be released tomorrow. Just try to get some sleep.”  
As soon as she’s alone, she calls Grace, only reaching her answering machine. She doesn’t know what to say. She’s in L.A., she’s at the hospital, she’s fine. She stays the night. She will be late for work tomorrow.  
Clueless, she ends the call. The cellphone sinks down onto the blanket, taking her hand with it.  
She’s bone tired, but she can’t sleep.  
Whenever she dozes off, dreams well up, ugly nightmare of Jane’s dead eyes in some unknown gutter, cold rain seeping into his clothes and hair.  
No, she sobs. Please, let him be alive. I don’t ask for more, just let him be alive. I’ll let him go, I won’t make any demands. Just let him be alive, please.  
She whispers to god, to her son. He’s kicking inside of her, as if he wants to prove that she is not alone.  
He isn’t dead, love, she thinks. Your father isn’t dead- if he were, I would feel it. I would feel it in my soul.  
The hours are crawling by, the darkness is suffocating.  
She finally falls asleep in the early morning hours.  
When she wakes up, Grace is there, smiling at her.  
“Rigsby takes your car back to Sacramento,” she says, “and you’re coming with me. But first, we’re getting breakfast.”  
Grace’s chatter on the way home is perfect. The right volume, the right speed. Lisbon listens, then tunes out, then listens again. She sleeps for a while, wakes up with a sharp ache in her neck. Listens some more.  
“Do you want to go to your apartment?” Grace asks.  
“No.” Lisbon answers. “I want to work.”

Xxxxxxxxxx

A knock on the door. She opens up, already slightly sleepy. Her apartment is gloomy and silent, she can’t bear the blaring of meaningless television shows tonight.  
It’s him, and the relief is so strong, so mind-blowing she can’t stay upright. She sits down on the floor, clutching her head until the dizziness subsides.  
“Jane.” She whispers.  
He kneels down next to her.  
“I don’t know where to go, and I need a shower.” He says. “Can I stay?”  
She knows that he could just go to any hotel, money has never been a problem for him. That he came to her means something, doesn’t it?  
Her mind tells her not to give in to hope again. Her heart isn’t listening.  
He helps her up, gently, and guides her to her bed.  
While he takes his shower she is just lying there, staring at the ceiling.  
He is alive. He is fine. He doesn’t have any new bruises on his face. Her whole body is shaking with relief.  
He comes out of the bathroom, naked, and slides into the space next to her, pulling her into his arms.  
But when she touches his cock, he gently disengages her hand.  
“Not tonight,” he says, “you’ve just been released from hospital. Next time, okay?”  
Her mind screams at her that “next time” could mean in months, that there’s no guarantee that he’ll be back. But she nods softly.  
He is so sweet and gentle, stroking her body carefully and attentively. His hands are warm and he smells so good.  
His kisses are soft and slow, he takes his time learning her texture, sampling her taste. Her tongue plays with his and he just follows her lead, lets her do whatever she wants.  
But he never once touches her belly.  
They grow still in the morning hours and she wants to beg him to stay, do anything to stop him from walking away this time- but just as she is about to start talking, she realizes that he is fast asleep.  
His warm, calm breath glides over her face, and she kisses his slightly parted lips lightly, careful not to wake him.  
She is afraid to fall asleep, so afraid he might be gone when she wakes up.  
But in the morning hours, exhaustion takes her body by surprise, and she feels her lids flutter shut. In the room between wakefulness and sleep, she feels his kiss on her lips as if from a great distance, and like a far-off humming she hears his voice.  
“I love you, Teresa.”  
When she wakes up hours later, there is no trace of him in her apartment. Only a whiff of his scent on the pillow next to her.

Xxxxxxxxxx

The huge hall of the church protects her from the heat outside, and she sighs with relief.  
She needs a place to think today.  
Her baby bump seems huge to her, although the all the doctors tell her it’s too small because she’s not eating enough and the baby is tiny due to lack of proper nourishment.  
She has a bad conscience, but nausea is accompanying her everywhere, and her belly feels pretty full already.  
She spends every day working, bending the rules of her desk duty by accompanying Cho to harmless-looking interviews. He lets her, because he knows she would go insane otherwise, caged in her office.  
Her son kicks her. Damn, she’s scared. She has no idea about babies, other that they are pretty gorgeous little creatures. She hasn’t attended any pregnancy courses, just read some books instead. What she really doesn’t need are happy fathers-to-be around her. Thank you very much.  
He kicks her again. What if it’s a daughter? No, it’s not. She can feel it.  
She has no idea how to name him. Patrick? No. Jane doesn’t want him.  
But it would always remind their son of his father. And she has never really called Jane “Patrick”, so the name isn’t occupied. She has no reason to forget him, either… why should she want to forget Patrick Jane. She loves him.  
Love.  
She has dreamed about him saying “I love you”. That has been a dream, hasn’t it?  
Her heart clenches painfully.  
She will have to raise their baby on her own. And she doesn’t feel up to the challenge. Not at all.

Xxxxxxxxxx

37 weeks along. If the baby comes right now, everything is fine. It will be small, but not premature. She won’t have to stay at the hospital.  
She wants it to be over. She wants to drink coffee again, dammit, she misses it so much, warm and deep and slightly bitter…hmmmmmm.  
She decides not to breast-feed. She’s not the motherly type, she doesn’t want all the fussing. Only more problems she doesn’t need.  
There’s a knock and it’s almost funny how her hope soars up immediately. She flies to the door and opens up.  
It’s him, and for a moment she entertains fantasies about a happy family, an ideal future. Daddy’s home, and she is racing to greet him, sink into his arms, see the love transforming his eyes into something hot and bottomless.  
She sobers up quickly- that’s not them, remember?  
But he looks good tonight- impeccable clothing, hair combed, freshly washed. He smells delicious. His smile is soft and tentative.  
“Can I come in?” He asks.  
Her smile feels full and mad on her face, as if she were completely out of practice.  
“Of course.” She says.  
She’s so happy all of a sudden, she knows it’s foolish, but she can’t stop it. Her heart beats fast.  
He’s so beautiful.  
He sits on her couch, and everything seems so perfect.  
“I’ll make you some tea.” He says, getting up. “Something without caffeine, huh?”  
She nods, but rolls her eyes secretly. She’s thoroughly fed up with herbal teas. But it’s only some weeks, she has to manage.  
Her little son kicks vigorously.  
Why don’t you come out of there? She growls in her mind. Make us both happy, boy!  
Jane returns, carrying a tray, and takes his time pouring their tea.  
She is nervous, out of her mind, her hands tremble like mad. She senses something big coming, he’s so solemn, strange, she can’t wait to get it over with.  
When he looks at her, all breathing seems to cease.  
“I’ve been gambling in casinos lately,” he says, “I had a lucky streak.”  
Silence for a moment. Her heartbeat thunders in her chest.  
“I want to start a new life, Teresa.” He whispers. “I want to change, build something. I want you to trust me, although I know that must be hard. It will take a while, Teresa. But I try not to worry you as much as I did in the last months. I know I’ve been selfish. I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”  
She doesn’t know what to say. What if his new life carries him away from her? Her son makes his presence known. From them?  
No, she has to trust him. He wants her to have faith in him. She won’t disappoint him.  
“I always do, Jane.” She says, tears audible on her voice.  
Great. More tears.  
They retire early, and making out with him feels better than she ever could have imagined in the weeks without him.  
His body is hot, damp from a thin sheen of sweat, his skin smooth and soft to her touch.  
His kisses are urgent tonight, his tongue probing harder, deeper. She gives as good as she gets, she’s craving his touch, his caress, his rough love. She wants to be taken tonight, deep and hard, she doesn’t want him to hold back.  
He gently turns her until she kneels in front of him, her back to him. He shoves his cock into her from behind, it’s hard and hot and so huge, filling her completely, reaching so deep she can almost taste him on her tongue. Her tight sheath stretches around him and it feels wonderful, perfect, she wants to beg for more.  
She puts her hands on the headrest and spreads her legs, giving him more room. He slides deeper, her groan flutters in her throat, loud and resonant.  
He puts his hands firmly on her belly to dampen the vibrations from his thrusts, and it’s the first time he has touched it, the first time at all. It’s like a shock for a moment, the warmth spreading all over her skin, reaching deep inside her like gently probing fingers.  
He fucks her roughly, his strokes fast and relentless, but his hands keep holding her belly, protecting it from the harshness of his thrusts.  
The base of his cock is rubbing against her clit every time he pushes into her to the hilt, and she comes in minutes, clenching around his thrusting hardness, her screams echoing through the room.  
He kisses her neck and shoulders, open-mouthed, feverish, never stopping to move.  
He slams into her faster and faster, groaning into her ear, and everything explodes around her, fireballs detonating into sizzling sparks when she comes with him, his spurts deep inside her triggering endless contractions.  
They collapse next to each other, and he’s pulling her close, right to the place where she so longs to be. She falls asleep with a sigh, tired beyond words.  
When she wakes up in the middle of the night, she’s lying on her back. She looks down and sees him, kneeling next to her, kissing her belly. His eyes are closed, he is nuzzling her skin, his lips soft, reverent.  
She looks at her.  
“I love you.” He says. “I love you both. Give me time, Teresa.”  
He slides into the space next to her, her back against his chest, her whole body engulfed in his arms. He puts his hand against her bump.  
“It’s pretty small.” He says, and she rolls her eyes. Tell me something new.  
His touch feels so good. His hand is large and firm and deliciously warm, and she never wants him to stop touching her.  
Their son kicks against his father’s hand.  
And she can feel Jane’s deep smile against her neck.

Xxxxxxxxxx

She wakes up all alone, a sigh of frustration escaping into the empty bedroom.  
Jane. Why can’t you stay, just once?  
She gets up, yawning, pushing her hand through her hair. Something is strange today. Her belly aches slightly, just a small, dragging pain. Before she can concentrate on it, it’s gone.  
She takes a shower and prepares a cup of herbal tea, not really in the mood for breakfast.  
Her son is quiet today, just an occasional soft kick. She smiles when she remembers the last night.  
He said “I love you.”  
He loves them both.  
She rubs her stomach where the little ache grows again.  
She drives to CBI-headquarters, and she still notices the pain from time to time. But it’s not really hurting, and there’s no blood, so she decides to ignore it.  
The job keeps her busy for some hours, so it takes a while until she sees a pattern in those little bouts of pain. They return about every fifteen minutes, just a faint, dragging sensation. But in the early afternoon, she can’t ignore the fact any longer: she’s in labor.  
She has sworn not to get hysterical and run to the hospital as soon as she feels a tiny pinch.  
So she plays it cool and doesn’t do anything special. But she can’t help it- she interrupts whatever she’s doing every fifteen minutes and watches the pain.  
It’s harmless, manageable. That can’t be the real deal, can it?  
It hurts a little bit more when it starts to get dark outside, but still she doesn’t feel incapacitated enough to go to the hospital. She hates hospitals, and she doesn’t want to be alone now.  
The occasional people walking up and down in front of her office give her enormous comfort.  
But when it’s completely dark, she starts feeling lonely. She walks into the bullpen and is surprised to find Grace at her desk. Playing Solitaire on her PC.  
“What are you doing here?” Lisbon asks, “You should be home!”  
Grace looks at her. Then at her baby bump.  
“No.” she says. ”I think I’m staying, boss.”  
Lisbon is dumbfounded for a moment, but then she just nods. She fetches her paperwork and starts filling out forms at Rigsby’s desk.  
Every few minutes it hurts, and now she definitely feels it. The pain wraps around her belly, getting stronger and stronger until it slowly fades away. But her breathing hasn’t changed. Just her back is aching a little bit. Everything tolerable so far.  
“The intervals are getting shorter.” Grace says calmly. “Just tell me when you want to go.”  
“Okay.” Lisbon answers. “Grace? Thank you.”  
Grace smiles.  
“No problem, boss. Will he come?”  
“Let’s say I would be surprised if he did.” She still has no idea if Grace knows who the father is, but somehow, she can’t have that talk now.  
“Would you want him there?” Grace asks, her voice soft and warm.  
“Yes.” Lisbon says with a smile. “Definitely.”  
Silence settles over the room, the pain comes and goes, and Lisbon fills out her forms in between. It’s ten o’clock p.m. when it starts to really hurt.  
Now the pain reaches every tiny niche of her abdomen, pulling on her back. She slowly scoots to the edge of her chair whenever a new contraction approaches, the pressure on her backside feels comfortable. But dammit- it hurts.  
“We should go, boss.” Grace says, and Lisbon is surprised to see her so close, fully dressed. She hasn’t noticed her, too busy with the latest contraction. She nods and accepts the jacket Grace is handing her.  
Showtime.

Xxxxxxxxxx

“Lie down and try to get some rest, Mrs. Lisbon.” The midwife is getting on her nerves, big time.  
“It’s AGENT Lisbon,” she snarls, “and I’m NOT lying down! The pain is worse when I’m on my back. I’ll stay like this, thank you very much. Why don’t you go and pester your other patients?”  
The midwife purses her lips, her eyes smiling benevolently, but she trots of eventually. Lisbon exhales a sigh of relief.  
“Sorry.” She says to Grace, chuckling slightly. “She’s awful.”  
“She is not.” Grace answers, smiling.  
Lisbon looks around for a moment. She hates hospitals. At least she was handed a gown that closes in the front- with buttons. Makes her feel a lot more dressed.  
Next contraction. It’s big, getting bigger, she tries to brace herself, but it gets harder and harder. After some hours of this, she’s now prepared for that tiny moment at the end of the wave when she thinks she can’t bear it any longer…then suddenly, it’s over.  
That moment is tiny now. But she knows it will get a lot bigger before the baby is born.  
She’s not afraid. She wants to get it over with, see what waits behind it. Pain is just…pain. But she definitely WON’T lie down.  
The midwife comes back, and Lisbon groans.  
Ella, that’s her name. Teresa wants nothing more than to see the back of her, fast.  
“Excuse me, AGENT Lisbon,” Ella says, “there’s a blond man in a three-piece-suit who says he knows you. Shall I tell him this is not the right moment to…”  
“No,” Lisbon says, excitement and relief clotting her throat, “bring him inside, please. He’s the father.”  
Grace is visibly surprised, so she obviously hasn’t known it. Lisbon has no idea what she can say now. But Grace just smiles.  
“He came.” She says.  
Lisbon nods. Her eyes feel wet.  
Jane enters the room and smiles at both of them before he puts his jacket over a chair and starts to roll up his sleeves.  
It’s so good to see him, Lisbon can just stare at him.  
Next contraction. She feels her breathing deepen, more and more. It’s still getting larger. How many contractions has she gone through in the last few hours? Twenty, two hundred? More? She doesn’t know, has lost all sense of time and space. The tiny moment towards the end arrives, it’s not so tiny any more, and she tries not to grit her tees, to relax as good as possible. Ouch.  
Over. Thank god.  
Jane bows and gives her a warm, gentle kiss.  
“Lie down between the contractions.” He says. “You can sit up when the next one arrives. But you will need your strength, Teresa.”  
She nods and lies down obediently, she’s so tired all of a sudden.  
Jane straightens and shakes Grace’s hand with a smile.  
“Thanks for holding the fort, Grace.”  
Grace returns the smile, and Lisbon feels relieved.  
“I’ll wait outside, boss.” Grace says.  
“Go home, please.” Lisbon whispers. “Really, you’ve done enough.”  
“No way.” Grace answers. “I’ll be waiting outside.”  
The midwife comes to monitor her progress. Lisbon hates these examinations, hates lying on her back like an oversized bug, hates being probed and prodded in the middle of a contraction, it hurts so much her hips are jerking violently. She is embarrassed that Jane sees her like this, but he’s so calm, so matter-of-factly as if he has done this every day of his life.  
“Well…”the doctor starts.  
“No.” Jane interrupts. “We don’t want you to tell us anything about the progress.”  
Lisbon looks at him, puzzled.  
“Trust me, love,” Jane whispers, “they can’t tell you when the baby will arrive. All they can do is give you some meaningless medical details. Numbers. Let them do their job- you’ll do yours. And I’ll do mine.”  
He’ll do his.  
He kisses her lips, very gently, and she lets the softness engulf her world for a second.  
“It really hurts, you know,” she breathes against his lips.  
“I know, Teresa,” he answers, “you’re doing great. Just take one at a time. Don’t think about the next one.”  
The next contraction arrives and he helps her to sit up. He kneels down in front of her, holds both her hands, his forehead against hers.  
His breath is sweet. It’s grounding her. The moment at the end is now terribly, unbearably long, but she knows- when it arrives, it’s almost over.  
When she becomes aware of her surroundings again, she notices that the midwife is lingering nearby.  
She looks at Jane.  
“Don’t worry.” He says. “Concentrate on your job, nothing else.”  
Her job. Okay.  
The next contraction arrives, damn, the last one seems barely over, but this one is really, really, really bad. There is no moment of “I can’t-bear-it-a- second-longer” now, the whole wave is the moment.  
Be over, she thinks, be over. But the pain is rising and rising until she truly, really can’t tolerate it any longer, no matter how, it has to stop, has to stop right now. She silently begs for unconsciousness, her fingernails digging into Jane’s hands. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even flinch slightly.  
“You have to lie down, Agent Lisbon.”  
The midwife.  
“No,” Lisbon gasps, ”I’m not lying down.”  
She can’t barely cope with this sitting up, she’s going to die when she’s forced to lie on her back.  
“She’ll do this sitting up.” Jane says.  
“That’s not possible, “ the midwife replies, “she has to lie down just for the…”  
“She’ll do this sitting up.” Jane repeats, his voice a lot firmer now. “Adjust the bed!”  
He sounds like a king ordering his servants about, and she holds tight to his voice, the only reliable thing in her universe right now.  
She feels the slight vibrations of the bed being adjusted, then Jane gently pushes his arm beneath her legs, lifting her slightly, bringing her into the right position. Her head hits a soft backrest, it feels good, her legs are spread, but she’s still sitting upright. She puts pressure on her legs. Good, she can still push down. She can make it.  
The next contraction arrives, she hears metal instruments clanging and clattering against each other. She just wants to stop, the pain so bad it engulfs her like the jaws of a fiery dragon, she wants it to be over, wants to go home. She feels drugged, dizzy and stone-cold sober at the same time, and Jane is the only thing there she really, really wants. He is close, so close, the pain is bad, really bad, she pushes her face into the nape of his neck, her fingers clutching his upper arms. Her grip is so tight she know she must be hurting him, but she can’t stop, and he’s not stopping her either, he just stays close, his warm breath flowing into her hair. She grits her teeth.  
“Scream, Teresa,” Jane whispers, “it will make you feel better immediately.”  
But she WON’T scream, no way.  
The contraction ebbs off.  
“I can’t do another one, Jane.” She says, her voice weak, out of breath.  
“It will be over soon, Teresa,” he whispers, “and then we’ll have our baby. Can you imagine it? I’ll buy us a hose, love. I’ve saved lots of money, we’ll find something truly wonderful for us. We start a new life, you and me and our little one. I’ll cook for you. And I’ll do all the cleaning. How does that sound, huh?”  
She almost smiles, but the next contraction arrives. Pain, fire, PAIN. More pain. A strangled cry is torn from her lips, she can’t stop it, digs her fingers into Jane’s chest. His voice is calm, soothing, she can’t really understand what he’s saying, but it sounds like a mantra, and suddenly, she finds a tiny space inside her that’s not full of agony. The wave flows off into nothingness.  
“No more, Jane,” she whispers hoarsely, “we have to stop. I want to go home.”  
“You can start pushing with the next contraction, Agent Lisbon.” The midwife says, but all she can see is Jane’s eyes. Sparkling green like polished jade. Every color seems enhanced, the lights brighter. Her skin is tingling.  
“Almost there, Teresa.” Jane’s voice, her anchor.  
Next contraction. NO!  
“PUSH!” The midwife shouts, but all she can hear is Jane’s voice, low and calm, barely there.  
“Push.” He whispers and she does, pushing as hard as she can.  
The pain recedes into a corner until it’s just a throb, very far away.  
“Don’t put any pressure up here,” Jane whispers, touching her face, “push down here instead, where my hand is.”  
He puts his hand on the underside of her belly, it’s warm, and she pushes against it full force with the next contraction.  
The pain is better now, almost there and almost gone, but it’s unbelievably exhausting, and after pushing twice, she can’t really say if it hurts or not or how bad it is or where the hell she is at the moment. And she especially can’t say if she can do another one.  
The pressure gets worse, and worse, and still worse until she is sure she will burst.  
“Don’t be afraid,” Jane whispers, “Push through it! What does it matter now? The harder you push, the sooner it will be over.”  
It will be over.  
Suddenly, she doesn’t care if it tears her in half. She’ll get it over with. Now.  
On the next push, the pressure mounts to something awful, monstrous, she swallows the scream that is bubbling up, she has to concentrate, push harder- suddenly, there’s relief. She doesn’t know what has happened, but it’s better. All better.  
“Stop pushing,” Jane says, his voice is so calm, so calm she finds enormous comfort in it, tries to dive into his words, let them engulf her from head to toe, “just pant now. Like this.”  
He breathes in short, shallow bursts, and she just mimics what he’s doing, her mind in shambles.  
She absently notices that he’s unbuttoning her gown, down to her belly button, spreading it open, exposing her chest.  
Then she hears it. A newborn’s cry.  
Time stops. All the pain is gone. Everything is gone. Tears spring to her eyes. Jane’s smile erupts on his face, warm and bright like the sun. His eyes rest on hers, not wavering. She can feel her heartbeat throb inside her brain.  
“Do you want to cut the cord, Mr. Lisbon?”  
“No,” Jane says, smiling, his eyes still not wavering from hers. “I’m staying right here.”  
He moves slightly sideways and something wet, incredibly warm is put on her chest- their baby. She cries so hard she can’t really see it, but it feels wonderful, her arms tighten around it, her vision blurred. The baby is squirming slightly, alive, perfect. Their baby.  
Jane puts a warm towel over the tiny body.  
“You have to push once more, love,” he says, and she does, absent-mindedly, her focus solely on her baby.  
Something warm slides from her body- it’s hardly registering.  
She holds their baby.  
“Congratulations, Agent Lisbon,” Ella says, smiling. “will you be breast-feeding the baby?”  
“Of course.” Lisbon says.  
“You have to start right now,” Jane says softly, already adjusting the baby’s position in her arms. “the sooner, the better.”  
The baby finds her breast without further encouragement. The suction is surprisingly powerful. Not unpleasant, though. Just very, very strong.  
Jane kisses her.  
His lips are hot and gentle and perfect, surrounding her with warmth. She wants to get out of here, fast, take him and their child and leave this awful hospital, spend the night snuggling up to both of them in her bed.  
The lights are far too bright.  
“She’s perfect.” Jane whispers, his large hand even larger against their daughter’s tiny body.  
“She is, isn’t she?” Lisbon says. She knows she’s smiling like an absolute fool, but she can’t help it. Hormones, probably.  
“She looks like her mother.” Jane breathes against her hair. “Thank god.”  
But he’s lying. She has Lisbon’s dark hair, but her features are Jane’s. His eyes. His nose. His lips. She’s so beautiful it feels as if Lisbon’s heart is melting.  
“What’s her name?” Jane asks.  
Lisbon thinks for a moment.  
“Let’s name her Grace.” She says eventually. “For that’s what she is- a saving grace, isn’t she? And it’s the name of her fabulous godmother. By the way- shouldn’t we tell her?”  
“Let’s wait another moment.” Jane says, and his smile is so beautiful she almost starts weeping again. “This moment never comes back, you know?”  
Little Grace is still suckling intently.  
The flurry of movement around them fades into the background, and suddenly, the midwife dims the blaring lights.  
“I love you.” Jane whispers, and everything is right in Teresa Lisbon’s world.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Seven months later

First day of work, and Lisbon is elated. Excited. And a little sad.  
She steps out of the house, it’s freezing. She hears Grace behind her, trying to crawl over the so far insurmountable threshold. She grins, already sensing Jane’s approach.  
She turns and watches him scoop up their wriggling daughter, pressing a gentle kiss on her tiny cheek.  
“She will manage without you, Grace,” he says softly, ”she’s the cop, remember? We’re just petty civilians, so we stay at home.”  
“We would manage better with your help, Jane,” Lisbon sighs.  
“We will visit you later,” he says, “Grace and me. Maybe I’ll have a look at your files, if you ask nicely.”  
Lisbon rolls her eyes and comes closer. She kisses him, the feeling as glorious and pure and mind-blowing as it’s always been. She already misses him. But it’s wonderful to know that he’s in her life.  
She looks at him for a moment. He looks good, happy, rested.  
There is still a lot of sadness in his eyes sometimes, but Grace never fails to make him smile. And he’s simply wonderful with her. The best father Lisbon could imagine.  
As a bonus, Grace sleeps a lot. And soundly. Which leaves more Jane-time for Lisbon. She’s fine with that.  
Her body stirs, he smells so wonderful, his curls tickling her nose when she nuzzles the space behind his ear.  
“I love you.” He says, and her heart jumps in her chest.  
“I love you, too.” She answers. ”Both of you, in fact.”  
She presses a kiss on Grace’s soft cheek and smiles when the baby grabs a strand of her hair. Damn, it’s so, so hard to leave her. Her baby. But she knows she’s in the best of hands.  
She kisses Jane once more and forces herself to pull away.  
“Dinner is ready when you come home,” Jane shouts after her, “which will be at precisely seven o’ clock, agent! Call if you can’t make it. But I don’t accept paper work as an excuse! You can do that on a boring day.”  
She chuckles. Keeping regular hours will be one of the major challenges she is facing, but for those two, she can do it.  
“Lasagna, pretty please?” she calls over her shoulder.  
“As you wish.” He smiles.  
He waves, making Grace mimic the gesture with her tiny hand.  
Lisbon gets into her car, smiles, and takes a deep breath. Then she turns the key, ready to become the team leader of Serious Crimes Unit once again. Until seven o’ clock p.m., and not a second later.

The End


End file.
